


Too Much

by RobinPlaysTrumpet15



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Dogma's not having a great time, Gen, Sensory Overload, Tup's a good brother, Tup's the older brother, do not copy to another site, i'm projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinPlaysTrumpet15/pseuds/RobinPlaysTrumpet15
Summary: Sometimes it's all just too much for Dogma to handle.
Relationships: Dogma & CT-5385 | Tup
Comments: 11
Kudos: 105





	Too Much

Sometimes Dogma didn’t understand his- his fellow soldiers. Sometimes they confused him. Other times they just drove him straight up the walls.

Sometimes they had him pulling his hair out, and sometimes they had him wanting to pull at _their_ hair. ~~Tup’s was easy to pull, and even that made Dogma a little mad.~~

There were plenty of things the other clones did that Dogma didn’t like. They didn’t always follow the Regs. Sometimes, they _intentionally_ did things against the regulations, just because it was “fun”. They got tattoos, and even convinced _him_ to get one as well. Maybe that one wasn’t so bad, but it was still against the rules.

They messed around in the barracks and the mess and the training decks. Fives ran down hallways with Jesse and Tup like they wouldn’t inevitably make a mess of things or get sent to the med bay. The paint they were given for their armor wasn’t _just_ used on their armor, it ended up all over the _cruiser_. The barracks were blue, the hangar was blue, the gunships were blue.

They’d even gotten ahold of cans of paint that _weren’t_ the 501st blue! It was contraband, and they shouldn’t have it!

And yet, _that_ found its way onto walls and floors and ships ~~and brothers~~ too.

It all got to be a little much sometimes.

Sometimes the barracks were too loud, the bodies too close, and the brothers too many.

Sometimes sounds grated against Dogma’s ears like sandpaper against rocks.It _hurt_ and made Dogma twitch and want to hit something. It made his hands jerk and fingers curl into fists, nails biting into palms.

Some days, his nerves were just shot, and Dogma hated it. He hated it more than he hated breaking rules. He hated it more than Tup’s long, stupid hair and Fives’ overconfident ~~treasonous~~ attitude.

Some days, Dogma just wanted to be somewhere quiet, with no one around.

Usually, no one noticed. Dogma was good at hiding it. Good soldiers didn’t get overwhelmed by _sounds_ , after all. Good soldiers grit their teeth and ignored it, moving on to do their jobs.

And Dogma was nothing if not a good soldier.

But sometimes-

Sometimes he wasn’t quite so good at ignoring the feeling. Sometimes he couldn’t always suppress the winces and little noises of distress that he hated so much.

Sometimes, someone noticed.

Most of the time, it was Tup.

Despite how they didn’t always get along, Tup knew Dogma better than anyone. And Dogma knew Tup like the back of his hand. They were batchmates - had spent their entire lives together and likely would do until the day they died. Dogma knew, even if he didn’t understand, when Tup had bad days. When he felt down. He knew that Tup had taken a liking to Fives and that he thought Kix’s haircut was cool. Tup wanted his hair to be even longer than it was, but if he let it grow, it would get harder to handle.

Tup was sweet and caring, a good friend, but he could also be sneaky and playful and teasing when he wanted to be.

Tup was also a good older brother, even if that was also something Dogma didn’t quite understand.

So when Dogma couldn’t even bear to take his helmet off in the barracks one night, because even the idea of it made him feel sick, Tup’s eyes zeroed in on him in no time at all. Dogma could feel angry and frustrated tears pooling unbidden in his eyes, threatening to spill despite everything. His whole body felt touched by a live wire. His senses were all dialed up to eleven, making lights harsher and sounds louder and touches heavier.

Everything hurt, and Dogma couldn’t stand it. The barracks were loud and frustrating. His brothers were obnoxious and annoying-

Not that they were doing it on purpose. It was never on purpose.

Tup appeared in Dogma’s field of vision between one blurry blink and another. His eyes were soft, his expression concerned.

“Dogma?” he said, voice low and gentle. It only hurt a little bit. Not like Fives’ laughter from the corner. “ _Gar vor’la?_ ”

It took just a second for the words to process. Dogma didn’t use Mando’a as often as the brothers around him did. But even still, the sound of his sort of native tongue was a soft touch to his frayed nerves.

It took him more than a second to even respond in any way.

Tup wasn’t stupid, and Dogma knew that. He wouldn’t insult his batchmate’s intelligence by trying to lie to him.

He shook his head in one sharp, jerky motion.

Tup nodded in understanding, but didn’t reach out to him. He just turned briefly and called something to the others that ripped at Dogma’s ears. Then he turned back and gestured behind Dogma with a jerk of his head.

“ _Shekemi ni._ ”

He followed without question.

Tup led them into an off-duty deck of the cruiser. The men here were on second shift, and still asleep for the next few hours. Some were still up, unable to sleep much or for long, but for the most part, Dogma found himself alone with Tup.

They found themselves in the rec room, empty and with the lights off.

“ _Tion copaani hiibir ovh gar’buy’ce?_ ” Tup whispered, settling onto the softest couch.

Dogma hesitated as he followed him. The words were easier to process this time. Without the lights, his HUD wasn’t dimming anything, and if it was just him and Tup, there was no sound to dampen…

He reached up carefully, disengaging the seal and pulling off his helmet.

Tup smiled gently, patting at the cushion beside him.

“ _To’a ni._ ”

Gingerly, Dogma did as Tup asked and sat on the couch. It really was comfortable. Soft and squishy. The fabric looked like it would be good to touch, too, if he wasn’t still wearing his gloves and gauntlets.

“ _Tion gar copaani jorhaa’ir?_ ”

Dogma shook his head. He didn’t know what he’d say even if he _did_ want to talk about it. It was everything, all at once, and nothing. Nothing was different or wrong. But everything was too loud and too bright and too _much_. But it wasn’t everything else. It was just him.

“ _Tion copaani ni jorhaa’ir?_ ”

Dogma shook his head again. Tup’s voice was soft and nice, and he liked that he spoke in Mando’a, but it was still too much.

Tup nodded, just as accepting and gentle as he had been already.

Dogma let himself relax into the couch cushions. His skin wasn’t crawling anymore, and he didn’t feel like he was going to rip his hair out in frustration. The tears in his eyes had dried up, leaving his vision clear and no longer watery.

Tup leaned into the back of the couch too.

They sat in silence together for a long time. Or perhaps not that long. But the longer they sat, the better Dogma felt.

Eventually, Tup shifted and lifted his hands. He began to sign, spelling out words letter by letter. He and Dogma had learned to finger spell years ago as cadets.

T-O-U-C-H?

Dogma bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. He felt better, but still- imagining Tup even leaning into him slightly was-

He shook his head.

Tup pointed up at his head.

P-L-A-Y H-A-I-R?

Dogma paused. Tup _did_ have nice hair to play with.

He nodded.

So Dogma found himself removing his gloves and gauntlets. They sat in the dark as he ran his fingers gently through Tup’s wave-curls. Slowly, he found himself with his brother’s shoulders in his lap as he played with locks of thick black hair.

He didn’t know how long they stayed there. It was long enough for Dogma’s tongue to unglue itself from the roof of his mouth and allow him to speak.

“ _Vor entye,_ ” he mumbled carefully.

Tup smiled up at him, looking sleepy and relaxed with Dogma.

“ _Kih’parjai, vod. Mayen par gar._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a Translations:  
>  _Gar vor’la?_ \- Are you okay?  
>  _Shekemi ni._ \- Follow me.  
>  _Tion copaani hiibir ovh gar’buy’ce?_ \- Do you want to take off your helmet?  
>  _To’a ni._ \- Join me.  
>  _Tion gar copaani jorhaa’ir?_ \- Do you want to talk about it?  
>  _Tion copaani ni jorhaa’ir?_ \- Do you want me to talk?  
>  _Vor entye_ \- Thank you  
>  _Kih’parjai, vod. Mayen par gar._ \- No problem, brother. Anything for you.
> 
> I dunno what to say about this guys - I was really projecting with this one. This was also partially my new headcanon that Dogma hates how long Tup's hair is because it goes against the regulations, but he also loves it because he likes to play with it when he's having a bad day.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this. Let know what you thought, and thanks for reading!


End file.
